The first in a series hearing from ActforPal’s core members, Victoria Brittain interviews co-founder Afaf Jabiri on building a movement, the importance of education for Palestinians, and Palestine as a feminist issue.

Victoria Brittain: You were one of the co-founders of ActforPal. Can you tell us something about the group, who you all were? Academics, friends, colleagues?

Afaf Jabiri: It began about a month after the genocide started in Gaza in November 2023. Like many Palestinian academics, I was trying to do whatever I could through my own university and the platforms available to me, but it never felt it was enough. We were all working individually, and there wasn’t anything bringing us together.

So I emailed the Palestinian academics I knew in the UK, simply to invite them to a meeting. I didn’t know what to expect, but the response was overwhelming. Almost everyone I contacted replied saying ‘yes’, and we ended up having a very large first meeting.

From there, the network grew organically. People who attended started reaching out to other Palestinian academics, telling them about the idea, and more people joined. Some of those who came to those very first meetings are still with ActforPal today. The network also benefited from many conversations beyond the formal meetings, with friends and colleagues.

We spent a great deal of time discussing our role as Palestinian academics. What should a network like this look like? How should it operate? What kind of vision should guide it? Those conversations were long, but they were necessary.

We were also drawing on our previous experiences. We’d all been involved in different networks and knew why many of them struggled. Some disappear once the immediate attack stops. Others rely too heavily on a few individuals or burn out because they depend entirely on voluntary labour.

The world has changed. When I started my activism in the late 1980s, volunteering was simply what everyone did. People devoted their evenings and weekends to collective work. Today, under neoliberalism, our lives are much busier, and people have far less time. We had to build something that recognised that reality rather than ignoring it.

Our first meeting was in November 2023, but we didn’t officially launch ActforPal until November 2024. We spent an entire year developing it. Some people understandably left because they wanted immediate action, but we felt it was important to build a genuine collective rather than something dependent on one or two individuals.

Throughout that year we met every week, sometimes more than once a week. We had long and often intense discussions. The people who stayed through that process became the founders of ActforPal because, by then, we had developed not only a shared vision but also a way of working together.

VB: Was there an explicit goal from the beginning, or were you going to wait and see how the network evolved?

AJ: What took the most time wasn’t bringing people together; it was deciding what we actually wanted to build. We knew from the beginning that we didn’t want to create just another academic network or simply react to what was happening in Gaza. Of course, responding to the genocide was urgent, but we also wanted to build something that would last and recognise that the current attack on Gaza is part of a broader, ongoing settler-colonial system.

At that time, none of us imagined the genocide would continue for as long as it has. But we did know that the oppression of Palestinians would continue, and if we were going to build something, it needed to exist for as long as that oppression exists.

There were moments when people became frustrated, and understandably so. People wanted us to raise money, support students, or launch campaigns straight away. But we felt that unless we first agreed on what we wanted to build, any immediate action would not be sustainable.

There was a very clear goal. Our ambition was never simply to establish a network; it was to build a movement. We wanted to create a movement that was liberated from all forms of oppression, not just in relation to Palestine.

Of course, Palestine is our lens and our central cause, but for us Palestine also means freedom for everyone. We wanted that principle to be clear from the beginning: that this would be a movement free from sexism, racism, and all forms of injustice, while bringing these struggles together rather than separating them.

That’s another reason why the process took time. We needed to feel comfortable with those principles collectively. Part of our discussions became a process of educating ourselves, thinking carefully about these issues and how we wanted to address them as a movement.

Even deciding on the name took time. Everything took time. The website, the visual identity, the creative work… We established a creative team that worked alongside us throughout the discussions. The name ‘ActforPal’ actually came from that process.

While they developed the creative side, we were simultaneously thinking through the organisational questions. To build a movement, you have to be patient. You have to think carefully about new ways of organising.

For example, we introduced membership fees because we wanted members not only to volunteer their time but also to contribute collectively to sustaining the network. We thought carefully about financial accountability. We decided not to register as a charity because we wanted the freedom that comes from remaining independent, but we also wanted proper financial accountability. That’s why we partnered with Taawon (Welfare Association) to manage our finances.

VB: Before we go further into ActforPal, could you tell us about your own journey: from your family’s displacement from Palestine, through growing up in a refugee camp in Jordan, to studying in London and becoming a professor?

AJ: For Palestinians, education is incredibly important. It is one of the pillars of our resistance. That’s also why education is central to ActforPal’s mission. For Palestinians, education is never simply about obtaining a certificate. It is part of survival, part of existence, and part of keeping the struggle alive.

My mother used to tell us all the time: without education, you do not exist.

My family was forcibly displaced from Iraq al-Manshiyya [32 kilometres northeast of Gaza City] in 1949 after ten months of siege and repeated military attacks. They were moved from one camp to another before eventually settling in Baqa’a Camp in Jordan, where I was born and received all my education through UNRWA schools.

Growing up in a refugee camp meant living with two realities at the same time. On the one hand, education was presented to us as absolutely essential. My mother and grandmother constantly encouraged us to study because they believed it was the only way we could build a future and contribute to Palestine. On the other hand, the opportunities available to us were extremely limited.

So from a very young age, you carried this contradiction. You knew education was your responsibility, yet you also knew how difficult it would be to succeed. If you looked at it realistically, you could easily ask yourself, how am I ever going to make it?

But Palestinians are rarely realistic in that sense. If we were, we probably wouldn’t survive. We continue because education becomes part of your dream of return. It becomes deeply intertwined with your identity and with everything you hope to do.

In that sense, my experience is not exceptional. It is actually a very ordinary Palestinian experience. Many families in the refugee camps speak to their children in exactly the same way. Education is not simply about improving your own life. It is always connected to Palestine. From childhood, you grow up believing that getting good marks is not just for yourself. You are doing something for your people. You carry that responsibility from a very young age.

Unfortunately, not everyone is able to make it. Recently I wrote about this through the idea of moral luck in my article “Why Palestine is a feminist issue”. Sometimes you don’t really know why one person succeeds while another equally capable person does not. The circumstances surrounding you make success seem almost impossible, so when someone does reach higher education, there is always an element of luck alongside determination.

When I was growing up, the refugee camps regularly produced some of the highest examination results in Jordan. What would be the equivalent of GCSE or A-level results here in Britain often came from students in the Palestinian camps, partly because UNRWA schools provided an excellent education at that time.

Those results created opportunities for only a handful of students each year to continue to university. In my year, I was fortunate enough to be one of those very lucky students.

VB: Can you tell us about the influences that made feminism such a clear strand in your political life?

AJ: I’m glad you asked the question this way, because I often get asked, how did you become a feminist? and I find that question frustrating. It’s as if becoming a feminist in Palestine requires a special explanation, when nobody asks why a woman in Britain, the United States, or India became a feminist.

I think I was a feminist all my life. I just didn’t have a label for it. The same is true of my mother and my grandmother. I believe they were feminists, too, although they would never have described themselves that way. It was simply the way they lived their lives.

After the Nakba, they faced enormous challenges, but they continued to carry their families and rebuild their lives. I was raised almost entirely by women. There was no father figure in my upbringing, and I grew up seeing women as the centre of everyday life. In the refugee camp, women did everything. Their strength, leadership and labour were simply part of ordinary life. It never occurred to me that women doing these things was unusual.

It was when I became politically active, around the age of fourteen or fifteen, that I started becoming conscious of gender in a different way. Within political activism, you begin to encounter the limitations placed on women. You realise that, alongside the struggle for Palestine, there is also another struggle: to overcome the barriers that restrict your existence as a woman.

I first joined Fatah when I was about fourteen. Later, when I was around seventeen, we established the Orphan Girls Committee in Baqa’a Camp. That experience changed me. We worked with girls who had lost their fathers and with mothers who had become solely responsible for raising their families. Through that work, I began to understand much more deeply the relationship between being Palestinian and being a woman.

Working closely with these families made me realise that we had to do something specifically for women. That was really where those two parts of my political consciousness came together. A major turning point came in 1989, when I joined the Women’s Union in Jordan. Working in a political movement and working with orphan girls had already shaped my understanding, but being part of a feminist organisation helped me connect those experiences and think about them in a more coherent way.

Even then, though, I didn’t call myself a feminist until much later. At the time, feminism in the region was often viewed as something imported from the West, and the word itself carried negative associations. So although I had been living those politics for many years, I wasn’t yet comfortable using the label.

VB: Returning to ActforPal, what are some elements of the network or movement that you are most proud of?

AJ: Of course, people need to see tangible outcomes. That’s why initiatives like the scholarships matter so much. They are visible expressions of what collective commitment can achieve. But we could never have reached that stage if we had rushed the foundation.

The scholarships were only possible because we spent that first year building ActforPal carefully. They’re funded entirely through our members’ subscriptions. We don’t rely on external donors or funding tied to conditions. That means we decide, collectively, where the money goes, based on the needs identified by Palestinians themselves. I think that’s something quite special.

Our members know exactly what happens to their contributions. We have no administrative salaries and virtually no overheads. We made a decision from the very beginning that every penny contributed by members should go to Palestine. Nothing should be spent outside Palestine. That principle guides everything we do. At one point we discussed organising conferences, but when we calculated the costs, we realised that money would be better spent supporting Palestinians directly. So we chose not to.

For us, the scholarships are a good example. We were able to support eighteen master’s students in Gaza [this year]. In financial terms, it’s not a huge programme. But that’s not really the point. What makes it meaningful is how it was achieved. It came from hundreds of people making small contributions because they believed in a shared commitment.

I remember explaining this to the students who received the scholarships. I told them, we’re not a donor organisation. This money comes from ordinary people, from academics paying their annual membership fees. I also told them, we wish we could give you more. Their response was incredibly moving because they understood what the scholarships represented. They weren’t simply financial support. They were an expression of solidarity and collective responsibility.

That’s what we wanted from the beginning. Not charity. A genuine relationship between Palestinians and those committed to Palestine, where every contribution reaches the people who need it most. I think that’s what makes ActforPal different, and it’s something I’m very proud of.

VB: In this new, extreme phase of the Zionist project to expel Palestinians, do you feel ActforPal is giving people strength, purpose, and hope at a time when it’s very difficult to imagine the future?

AJ: Yes, I do. Absolutely. I think one of the most important things is that, during one of the darkest moments in Palestinian history, we chose not only to respond, but to build something. The process of creating ActforPal itself gave many of us hope, because we weren’t just watching events unfold feeling powerless. We were creating something together.

For me personally, living in London during the genocide was very difficult. When you’re in exile, especially far from Palestine, you constantly ask yourself, what can I actually do? You feel the distance. You feel the frustration of not being able to stand beside your people in the way you wish you could.

ActforPal became one answer to that question. It gave us a space where Palestinian academics could contribute through the work we know best. Not as individuals but collectively building something that could last beyond the current moment.

What I’m most proud of is that nobody came into this wanting a position or recognition. We were all asking the same question: How do we create something that lasts? Something that has an impact. Something that continues to grow and allows more people to become part of it. Those conversations were incredibly important. They weren’t easy, but they gave us a shared vision. And that in itself was hopeful.

I think another important aspect is the way we organise ourselves. We have a system of rotation, so responsibility doesn’t stay with one or two people. Different members take on different roles over time. That gives everyone a sense of ownership and responsibility. It allows people to grow into leadership, and it also protects the movement itself, because it doesn’t depend on any single individual. If we’re serious about building something that lasts, then everyone has to feel that this is their movement, not somebody else’s.

Hope, for me, is not simply optimism. Hope comes from doing something meaningful. When you know you’re contributing, when you know your work matters, you stop feeling paralysed. You begin to build. A movement grows through trust, through relationships, and through people believing that they genuinely have a place within it.

VB: I think that’s really important. It says a lot about the kind of movement you’re trying to build.

AJ: I also think it’s important that, as a movement, we try to offer people a different model of how to deal with disagreements and difficult situations. We have to remind ourselves that these things are not personal. They should never become personal.

It takes time. Not everyone will embrace these ways of working immediately. We all come with different experiences, different habits, and different ways of doing things that we’ve learned over many years.

That’s why patience is so important. Patience, openness, and always remembering that what we’re trying to build is much bigger than any one of us. Once you keep that in mind, you stop approaching things personally. You begin asking instead, what’s best for the movement?

And I can already see that happening. When I look at the commitment of some members, I see that they genuinely feel ActforPal belongs to them. That’s exactly what we hoped for. They bring ideas, they take initiative, they care for it as if it were their own.

That’s how movements grow. It may begin with two or three people, then next year it’s ten or fifteen, and the year after that it’s twenty. These things can’t be rushed. They need time. And, in many ways, time is what we have. We’re building something for the long term.

I was talking to a colleague at the university the other day, and she said she always feels uncomfortable when Palestinians are put in a position where they have to explain or justify themselves.

I understood what she meant, but I told her that I see it differently. I don’t see those moments as simply having to defend ourselves. I see them as opportunities. Opportunities to educate, to challenge assumptions, to shift the conversation, and to help people understand Palestine differently.

That’s how I think about ActforPal as well. Of course, we’re supporting students, building networks, and creating opportunities. But we’re also creating opportunities to educate, to produce knowledge, and to build a different way of thinking about Palestine and about solidarity itself. I think that’s one of the most important things we’re trying to do.